The winds howled across the withered cliffs, carrying the dry scent of dust and memories long forgotten.
Perched atop the ruins of the Eastern Astralis Temple, where moss strangled the broken statues of guardian Buddhas and shattered torii gates lay buried under vines, a lone figure trudged along the cracked stone path.
Sakata Buddha.
The last monk of a clan the world had already buried.
He adjusted the tattered straw hat on his head and gave a long, theatrical sigh.
"Still standing, huh? You stubborn old temple... Guess you take after your owner."
His voice, light and joking, drifted across the ruins, swallowed up by the silence. For a second, it almost felt like the crumbling walls were chuckling back at him.
Hidden behind a collapsed pillar, two young researchers in brown cloaks watched him with wide, nervous eyes.
"Oi, oi," one whispered. "Is that him?"
"The Wandering Monk..." the other breathed. "Sakata Buddha. I heard he's been alive for over a hundred years!"
Before they could whisper any further, Sakata lazily tilted his head back toward them without even turning.
"If you kids are gonna gossip," he called out with a lopsided grin, "at least bring some sake next time. I'm parched."
The two researchers yelped and ducked behind the stones like startled rabbits.
Sakata chuckled to himself and continued walking.
He wasn't offended. Gossip was better than being forgotten entirely.
And besides...
Dead men didn't care about rumors.
＊＊＊
The Buddha Clan.
Once the protectors of balance in Astralis, their monks had bent the elements to their will, weaving magic into the fabric of peace.
They had been proud.
Too proud.
Their founder, Kawaguchi Buddha, had come from another world — an ordinary Japanese salaryman turned monk, whose stubborn belief in compassion had birthed a dynasty.
A dynasty that no longer existed.
Sakata sighed again, this time quieter, almost to himself.
He stopped at the heart of the temple — a crumbled altar swallowed by weeds — and knelt beside it, brushing his fingers over a shattered incense holder.
"You old fools," he murmured, almost fondly. "You really went and let it all burn, didn't you?"
For a while, he just sat there, letting the silence press in.
Then, the crunch of footsteps broke the moment.
Sakata didn't move.
Didn't even look up.
Five men in black cloaks, faces hidden, emerged from the tree line like shadows come to life.
"You shouldn't be here, monk," the leader said gruffly. "This land belongs to the Black Fang now."
Sakata scratched his head lazily.
"Black Fang, huh? Sounds like a discount tavern that serves rotten ale."
"You're trespassing," the man snapped. "We have orders to kill anyone who steps foot here."
The other four drew steel, the air buzzing with intent.
Sakata stayed kneeling, plucking a blade of grass between his fingers.
"Killing an old monk over a pile of rocks? Tch. Kids these days really don't know how to pick their battles."
The men didn't wait. They lunged.
In the blink of an eye, Sakata moved.
Or rather — it seemed like he barely moved at all.
One heartbeat later, three men crumpled silently into the dust. The fourth dropped his sword, screaming about a dislocated shoulder. The leader froze, instinct screaming at him that he was prey, not predator.
Sakata was behind him now, grinning, tapping his shoulder with two fingers.
"Lesson one, brat," he said. "Don't point a sword at a guy who's been dodging death longer than you've been alive."
The man toppled to the ground without so much as a scratch on him.
Sakata dusted off his sleeves, muttering,
"Sheesh... Can't even have a nostalgic stroll without getting jumped these days."
＊＊＊
That night, Sakata sat by a crackling campfire at the edge of the ruins, sipping cheap wine from a battered gourd. The flames danced against the broken stones, casting long shadows that flickered like the memories he tried not to think about.
He held an old scroll in one hand — yellowed with age, barely held together by frayed string.
On its front, in faded ink, were written the words:
'The Secret History of the Buddha Clan – Recorded by Kawaguchi Buddha.'
Sakata traced the characters with a thumb, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
"You sure left me one hell of a mess to clean up, old man."
The stars above blinked silently, offering no comfort.
＊＊＊
By dawn, Sakata was on the move again, weaving through the overgrown paths that led deeper into the temple's shattered heart.
He wasn't here for prayer.
He was here for what lay buried.
At the end of a half-collapsed corridor stood a massive stone door, untouched by time. Carved deep into its surface was the crest of the Buddha Clan — a lotus flower entwined by five dragons, each representing an elemental force.
Sakata stood before it, one hand raised toward the center.
"You kept it hidden this whole time..."
He pressed his palm against the stone.
With a soft groan, the door shuddered, ancient seals crumbling, and a thin shaft of golden light spilled out.
Just as he stepped forward, a new voice rang out behind him.
"You really came back, Monk."
Sakata turned, already half-expecting trouble.
A tall man in flowing black robes leaned casually against a fallen pillar, a porcelain mask covering half his face. His aura was calm — too calm.
Sakata squinted at him.
"You're with those Black Fang pups, huh? Thought I knocked your babysitters out cold last night."
"No hard feelings," the masked man said lightly. "I was sent to watch, not fight."
Sakata snorted. "Coulda brought snacks then."
The masked man ignored the jab and tossed a rolled-up parchment at him.
Sakata caught it easily.
"You're not the only one digging into old graves, Monk," the man said. "Someone else is moving. Someone who knows why your clan really burned."
With a final, mocking bow, the masked man vanished into the morning mist.
Sakata unraveled the parchment slowly.
His eyes darkened at the name scrawled inside.
A name he hadn't heard whispered in decades.
"...So, it's you."
＊＊＊
The sun rose higher, painting the ruins gold.
Sakata Buddha stood at the entrance of the opened chamber, scroll in one hand, mischief glinting faintly in his tired eyes.
He slipped the parchment into his robes, tightened the straps on his sandals, and smiled.
"Guess retirement'll have to wait a little longer."
The past had called him back into the game.
And this time, he intended to finish what the Buddha Clan had started.
- - -
To be Continued...